


After the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't

by ProdigyBlood



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Feelings Realization, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 20:42:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19449178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProdigyBlood/pseuds/ProdigyBlood
Summary: “I’ve no book shop. No home. No job – ”“You’ve got me.”“Oh.” Like a startled deer, Aziraphale looked at the demon beside him staring so earnestly. He wasn’t used to this, to Crowley actually being nice to him. But then, if he really stopped to think about it, Crowley had done a lot of nice things for him over the years. “Yes,” he said quietly, “Yes I suppose I have.”





	After the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't

**Author's Note:**

> This is a quickly written and purely self-indulgent one because I had been thinking about how I wished there had been a little more ineffable husbands at the end of the show.  
> Plus, I just wanted to see Zira's reaction to Crowley's statue... XD

The almost-apocalypse was over and Aziraphale just felt tired. Generally speaking, angels didn’t get tired. They weren’t human after all. Right now, however, he was struggling to keep his eyes open. They felt heavy, weighed down by an invisible force that just wanted him to _sleep._ Aziraphale couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept. Crowley did it often but Aziraphale always felt like it was a waste of time. There was so much else he could be doing.

A knee nudged him and he shook himself, trying to wake up, to shake away the heaviness pulling him under and threatening to never let go.

“You alright, angel?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer straight away. He wasn’t entirely certain what the answer to that question was. Instead, he turned his attention to the window. Outside it was dark. He couldn’t see much other than his own reflection and that of the man sitting next to him.

Crowley was looking at him with something akin to concern written across his face.

“What happens now?” the angel asked finally, not quite an answer to the still lingering question.

Crowley’s knee bumped against his again. The bus ride was bumpy and the angel couldn’t be certain whether it was intentional or not. “Whatever we want. There are no rules anymore. Not for us.”

“I don’t know whether I like the sound of that. A life without purpose…”

“Your life has plenty of purpose, angel.” Crowley was being too soft, it wasn’t like him. It was there of course, _always_ , but the demon didn’t like to _show_ it. 

A lot had changed in the apocalypse-that-wasn’t. 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure whether he could get used to it or not. 

“I’ve no book shop. No home. No job – ”

“You’ve got me.”

“Oh.” Like a startled deer, Aziraphale looked at the demon beside him staring so earnestly. He wasn’t used to this, to Crowley actually being nice to him. But then, if he really stopped to think about it, Crowley had done a lot of nice things for him over the years. “Yes,” he said quietly, “Yes I suppose I have.”

When the confused bus driver pulled up outside Crowley’s flat, Aziraphale made sure to thank him most vigorously before following the demon off.

As they entered the building it occurred to the angel that he’d never actually been to Crowley’s place before. It was strange, that. The demon was often showing up at the bookstore, after all. A lot of the time uninvited. Why had Aziraphale never even thought to reciprocate the gesture? Because he valued Crowley's privacy and was polite, he decided. And he had never been invited before…

“I’ve never been here before,” he said as he followed Crowley inside. “Why is that?”

Crowley shrugged. “Hadn’t really thought about it. It’s not really your thing.”

“No, I don’t suppose it would be.”

Crowley unlocked the front door and held it open for Aziraphale. It was cold and grey and bare. Never mind it not being Aziraphale’s style, he didn’t think it was _Crowley’s_ style either. The angel wasn’t sure why he was struck with that feeling; who was he to say what Crowley’s décor tastes were after all? Then again, one could learn a lot about someone in six thousand years, especially when they were paying attention.

“It’s just a place to sleep, really,” Crowley said, sounding… was that nervousness? He struck Aziraphale then as a small child seeking approval. The angel stepped further into the flat, his eyes lighting up as he spotted the greenery through the next room.

“My dear, your plants!” Off he took, gushing over them in a way that made Crowley cringe.

“No, don’t be nice to them,” the demon tried to protest, but Aziraphale was having none of it.

“Oh, I have never seen such beautiful plants.”

Crowley sighed. He was going to have to go all out to awaken their fear later, else the compliments would spoil them. He’d wait for Aziraphale to leave. He didn’t think Aziraphale would approve of how he spoke to them. Then again, would the angel actually be leaving? He didn’t have anywhere else to go, and Crowley certainly didn’t mind his hanging about. Craved it, actually.

“Oh good gracious. My dear, what’s this?”

Crowley froze, mentally facepalming. He’d forgotten about the statue. It was clearly visible past the plants. He swallowed audibly as Aziraphale approached it. To be honest, it was the main reason he’d never invited Aziraphale round. He didn’t think the angel would approve.

Crowley had no choice but to follow Aziraphale through. He swallowed uncomfortably as the angel looked between the statue and him.

“It… uh… it represents – ” What was he meant to say? It didn’t look good.

“My dear is that… us?”

Crowley paled further, though he felt his ears heat up.

He’d had the statue custom made after seeing one similar. The original was meant to represent good and evil fighting, with evil triumphing. Crowley’s own statue was more… provocative. He’d had the faces designed specially.

 _What_? He’d been drunk at the time, okay?

Before Crowley could even think up a lie, Aziraphale snorted. With wide eyes full of disbelief, the demon watched as Aziraphale _giggled._ Like a schoolgirl. The demon was torn between being disgusted and besotted.

“It’s awful,” Aziraphale managed to say between his laughter. “Why would you even want this?” 

“I don’t judge you for your books,” Crowley grumbled.

“My dear, there’s a world of difference between a book and a statue of us… copulating.”

“Wrestling,” the demon argued feebly but who was he kidding, really?

Aziraphale finally seemed to have gotten his laughter under control. Crowley had imagined Aziraphale seeing the statue for the first time on many occasions. Out of all the reactions he had pictured the angel having, this was not one of them. In all honesty, it was better than he could have hoped. Many of the scenarios in his head ended with a horrified Aziraphale hurrying from the flat never to be seen again. Crowley would take the laughter any day. He liked Aziraphale’s laugh.

A silence fell between them, not quite comfortable but not necessarily uncomfortable either. It was a natural silence, broken eventually by Aziraphale, who had turned serious.

“I don’t know how I missed it.”

Crowley didn’t need to ask what he meant. “We were just going at different speeds.”

“You always did go too fast for me,” Aziraphale said softly.

“I always knew you’d catch up eventually.” Crowley hesitated then, suddenly worried. “…You have, haven’t you?”

“Oh, my dear, of course! I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Crowley didn’t mind. He would have waited forever, if necessary. “So what now?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about that. Agnes Nutters last prophecy, I think I’ve worked it out.”

“I meant more immediately, angel.”

“Well, it is…” Aziraphale trailed off, his blue eyes meeting Crowley’s as the demon's words sunk in. “What do you mean?"

“You’re tired, aren’t you? You can take the bed.”

“Oh.” In the excitement of seeing Crowley’s flat for the first time, Aziraphale had actually forgotten about about his exhaustion. Now that Crowley mentioned it, it crashed back down on him almost making him stumble. Or, maybe that was just the surprise. He’d thought, for a moment, Crowley had meant something else entirely.

“Where would you sleep?” There was no doubt in the angel's mind that Crowley _would_ sleep. The demon loved sleep like the angel loved books.

“Sofa,” Crowley said, shrugging.

Aziraphale swallowed. Hadn’t they just admitted their feelings for one another? Maybe he’d misinterpreted, or maybe Crowley was still worried about going too fast? He didn’t think that was the case, though. And, if it was, he needed to correct it. Everything that had happened over the past few days had made Aziraphale think about what he wanted. About _who_ he wanted. He couldn’t afford to let it all be undone now.

Especially after seeing that ridiculous statue.

“We could…” he started to say, feeling bold. When he began to hesitate, he shook his head, pushing through the embarrassment. _No_. He had faced so much recently. Faced things he’d never thought he’d be brave enough to face. He had stood up to his superiors, he had stopped Armageddon. He couldn’t let the fear of rejection hold him back. Especially when he was almost certain he _wouldn’t_ be rejected. Not by Crowley, his demon who had wanted to run away to the stars with him and had cried when he’d thought Aziraphale was dead.

Once again the angel was struck by how oblivious he’d been. How incredibly stupid.

“We could always share the bed.”

“You’d be okay with that?” Crowley asked, looking ever-so startled and ever-so hopeful.

“Oh my darling,” Aziraphale said, and he stepped closer to the demon. “I think we’ve wasted more than enough time ‘going slow’ don’t you think?”

Crowley regarded him sceptically for a moment. Then, with the passion and suddenness of a man who had wanted to for so, _so_ long, he closed the distance between them and kissed Aziraphale.

They still needed to discuss Agnes Nutter and her final prophecy but that could wait. With Crowley’s lips pressed against his, suddenly Aziraphale found himself not particularly tired once more. 


End file.
